Adnexus
by Jazztrix Riddle
Summary: Harry is having mysterious nightmares. Sirius, Dumbledore, and Snape all know what they mean. And Dumbledore has a brilliant plan that involves Snape, Harry, and matching necklaces...
1. Nightmares

Adnexus – Nightmares – JR

Summary:

Harry is having mysterious nightmares at the beginning of his fourth year at Hogwarts. Sirius knows what they mean. Dumbledore knows what they mean. And, however reluctantly he is to admit it, Snape knows what they mean too. But all's well, for Dumbledore has a plan to make it all better. Of course, Snape will be the one who has to carry out said plan. Why did he take this job again? Well, he's stuck with it now. And stuck with Harry.

Wormtail hated feeding his master. He should never have come back. He should have let Black and Lupin kill him. It would have been better than _this_ fate. He did not want to move Voldemort closer to the fire. He did not want to milk Nagini. But still, he did it anyway. He was a servant after all. What else did servants do? _They could spy and report to the enemy_, Wormtail thought mutinously. But he must behave tonight. He had questions.

"My Lord, how long will we stay here?"

"A week or longer, Wormtail. Until the Quidditch World Cup is over, at least," Voldemort replied in his high, cruel voice. Wormtail nodded. It was not really important how long they stayed. There were more important matters to discuss.

"Are you still determined, my Lord?"

"But of course I am, Wormtail," Voldemort hissed in a scolding tone. _I should have known better than to ask_, Wormtail grudgingly admitted to himself. Wormtail sighed and bravely continued.

"It could be done without Harry Potter." Voldemort raised a cold, cruel, accusing eyebrow at Wormtail, who shrank slightly back, taking a step away.

"I don't suggest this out of concern for him, my Lord!" he added quickly. "But – but without him, it could be done so – so much faster!"

"_NO!_" Voldemort hissed. "I will use no other! We will proceed with the plan!"

"B-but, my Lord, Harry P-potter is so hard to get at," Wormtail insisted, though his courage was fading away by now.

"_Silence!"_ Wormtail immediately heeded Voldemort's command. "The plan has no flaws! My faithful servant at Hogwarts will make no mistakes, Wormtail. We make _no changes!"_ Wormtail fell into a sulky silence, sore at his failed attempt to waver his master's dangerous plan. After a while Voldemort's voice assumed a new tone.

"Just one more murder, Wormtail, yes… Yes, Bertha Jorkins was most helpful and her death will go unnoticed for some time." Here the Dark Lord paused to laugh his evil mirthless laugh. "One more killing and our path to Harry Potter is clear!"

Harry kept replaying the dream in his head. With shaking hands he pulled a scroll of parchment, quill and ink toward him and sat down at his desk. He ran a finger over the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It was aching and throbbing and felt hot to the touch. His face was covered in cold sweat.

Harry took a deep breath and looked out the foggy window at the quiet peaceful street of Privet Drive. It was the last place you'd expect to find an evil, murderous wizard and his cowardly, back-stabbing servant.

Harry took another deep breath, dipped his quill in the ink and placed its tip on the parchment to write a letter to his godfather, Sirius Black.

When Harry was finished his letter was very long. He had included every detail of the dream he could remember. He sat back in his chair and re-read what he had written, pushing his round glasses up on his nose, which was still wet with perspiration. After adding a few words here and scratching out a few there, Harry was satisfied with his letter. He left it on his desk for Hedwig to deliver and began pacing around his room, waiting for her to return from hunting.

Voldemort had some sort of plan. That, of course, was bad. But the worst part was that he had Wormtail, and not just Wormtail, either. _A faithful servant at Hogwarts._ That was anything but good. In fact, that was horrible. They'd killed Bertha Jorkins, whoever that was, and they apparently had just one more person in their way. One more person they had to murder and then, _then_ they were going to kill Harry.

Harry shivered as Hedwig soared through his open window and landed gracefully on top of her cage. She saw Harry's letter and dropped the dead rat she had in her beak in excitement that she was getting a delivery. Harry walked over to his beautiful snowy owl and picked up his letter to Sirius. Hedwig obediently held up a leg for him to tie the scroll to. Seconds later she had flown back out into the night again and was gone.

Harry stared out his window, watching the white speck in the sky that was Hedwig. Then he slammed the glass shut and buried his face in his hands, sinking on to his bed. He took a deep breath and sighed loudly. He took his hands away from his face, removed his glasses, and lay back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling. He rubbed his scar again.

How he wished it had never been there.

Sirius Black sat comfortably and quietly in an abandoned cottage on a beach, absentmindedly staring out at the starry sky. He saw that one of the stars seemed to be coming toward him. Then he noticed that it had wings.

"Hedwig!" he guessed, standing and opening the window for her. "Hey, girl." Sirius patted his godson's owl on the head and removed the scroll tied to her leg. He handed over the leftovers from his dinner and crossed the room to lean on Buckbeak the hippogriff.

After reading Harry's letter, Sirius's good mood was completely gone. This could only mean one thing, and he hoped to God that he was wrong, or that Harry had just had a nightmare. He crumpled the letter in his fist and began to pace his room in distress.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of pacing urgently across the dusty wooden floorboards, Sirius seemed to make up his mind. He sat back down on the dilapidated bed in the corner, where Hedwig still sat, munching happily on bit of bone from an unfortunate seagull that Sirius had caught as Snuffles, the bear-like black dog he could transform into.

Sirius searched through the many pockets in his cloak and finally found what he was looking for – a scroll of old parchment, a rather squished quill, and a tiny cartridge of ink.

He then wrote a hurried letter to Albus Dumbledore…

"Severus, things are going to have to be much different between you and Harry this year." Snape snorted. There was no way in Hell that he and Harry were ever going to treat each other any different. The arrogant brat was just like his father – completely full of himself.

"I think, Severus, that if you might try to get along with him… even just in the slightest bit, he would do the same," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the rude sound Snape had made to express his doubt that such a thing was possible. "Will you try to work with him?" Snape raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the Headmaster. Things were just fine the way they were. Why did Dumbledore want them to change?

"Forgive me, Headmaster," Snape sneered. "But what is the _point_ of this meeting?" Dumbledore gave him a stern look over the top of his half-moon spectacles. In answer he handed Snape the letter he had just received from Sirius Black. Snape read the letter silently, pausing at the signature. He gritted his teeth.

"May I ask," he said coldly. "Why you are communicating with _him_?" He thrust Sirius's letter back at Dumbledore bitterly. He'd hoped that, even though Black had not had the Dementor's Kiss performed on him, he had at least seen the last of him.

"I think you know the answer to that, Severus," Dumbledore replied, just as coldly. "It is you who needs to accept that Sirius is innocent."

"Innocent my ass," Snape muttered under his breath so that Dumbledore could not hear him. But he knew what Harry's dream must mean, and he didn't like it any more than either of them did. He sighed.

"I suppose you want me to look around for this faithful servant?"

"On the side, perhaps," Dumbledore told him, the twinkle returning to his shockingly blue eyes. A half-smile creased his old lips. Snape could not help but dread the orders that would soon issue from those smiling lips.

"What new _amusing_ task have you for me now, Headmaster?"

"I want you to look after the boy, Severus." Dumbledore's lips were twitching now. He looked like he wanted to laugh. Snape's fists clenched.

"Do I not do enough looking after him already, Albus?" he demanded quietly.

"Oh, this time you'll have some of my magic to aid you in the task." Dumbledore stood and opened a drawer in his desk. He pulled out two necklaces. From each was hanging a shiny, pink, half-heart shaped pendent, one saying in girly purple letters 'Best' and the other 'Friends.'

Snape glared apprehensively at the two necklaces dangling from Dumbledore's old fingers. Somehow, he thought, this year was not going to be enjoyable for him at all.


	2. Necklaces

Adnexus – Necklaces – JR

Summary:

Harry finally escapes the Dursleys' for the summer. He's headed to the Burrow and then off to the Quidditch World Cup. He's forgotten all about his nightmares in the excitement of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Of course, Dumbledore hasn't forgotten the dreams, which means neither has Snape. Snape doesn't think anything could go wrong at the World Cup with all the Ministry supervision and Muggle-Away charms and such, but Dumbledore insists he go, just in case. And nothing happens. And Snape is in a bad mood; after all he hates Quidditch with a passion. But then, something does happen; something that is connected to Harry's dreams. Will the horrors never cease? Nope, never. Dumbledore decides to put his plan into action. Now.

Harry did not enjoy breakfast with the Dursleys the next morning. All three of his relatives completely ignored him, all staring at the television to avoid looking at him.

Harry ate his bacon in silence, still thinking about his dream. He wondered when Sirius would write him back. He hoped it would be soon.

The doorbell rang. Grumbling and grouching about pesky neighbours, Uncle Vernon went to answer the door. Harry vaguely heard a conversation take place. There was a short bought of laughter, which Uncle Vernon quickly silenced in a curt tone. Then Harry heard the door close and Uncle Vernon returned to the table, glaring angrily over at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked his uncle rudely. After all, he hadn't done anything. Why should he have to be the recipient of such an ugly glare? Especially so early in the morning.

"Living room," Vernon barked at Harry. Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying, 'I didn't do it,' and followed Uncle Vernon into the living room.

"What is this?" Uncle Vernon demanded, brandishing a letter under Harry's nose.

"I dunno," Harry replied. "I can't read it when you're waving it around like that." Uncle Vernon gave Harry a very nasty look indeed, but he shoved the letter into Harry's hands. Harry couldn't help but feel a little better. He loved getting mail, however roughly he received it.

Slowly, carefully he unfolded the letter. It was from the Weasleys wondering, Harry dear, if maybe did you want to come to the Quidditch World Cup with us? Only, it wouldn't make much sense to send you back to the Dursleys' after that, so would you maybe be allowed to stay the rest of the summer? And hoping you are well. And do send your reply the normal way, if you don't mind, Harry dear. Oh, and did we put enough stamps on? Harry couldn't hold down the smile that appeared on his face after reading this. He tried not to laugh.

"What do you think, then, boy?" Uncle Vernon barked, snapping Harry out of his blissful memories of the Burrow. Vernon pushed an envelope into Harry's hands. "Did they put on enough stamps?"

"Yeah, I think so," Harry said, grinning now. The envelope was completely covered in stamps, not a single space of the actual paper was visible, except for where Mrs. Weasley had written the address. Uncle Vernon didn't seem satisfied with Harry's response.

"What kind of people," he snarled. "Don't know how many stamps to put on a letter?"

"Wiz –" Harry stopped himself just in time, having been warned of danger-to-come by Uncle Vernon's rapidly purpling face. "My kind." Uncle Vernon glared angrily at Harry. He seemed to have been looking forward to an excuse to yell and scream at him. Harry looked up at his uncle in mock innocence.

"So," he asked. "Can I go, then?" Uncle Vernon looked poised between two decisions. Harry could practically hear the gears turning. On the one hand, Vernon could say no, and Harry would be unhappy, which was always strived for in this household. On the other, he could say yes, and there would be no Harry to make unhappy in the first place. But which to choose? Finally Uncle Vernon answered.

"Fine then, boy," he snapped. He snatched the letter and envelope from Harry's hands, tore them into tiny pieces, and then marched back into the kitchen. Harry raced upstairs to pack his trunk.

Eight o'clock that evening found Harry pacing across the Dursleys' living room awaiting the arrival of the Weasleys. Having been warned by owl post that they were going to use the Floo, Harry fidgeted impatiently in front of the fireplace, which had miraculously been uncovered at his request.

The Dursleys sat behind him on their fancy couch in their fancy clothes and followed Harry's progress back and forth across their fancy carpet which had been freshly vacuumed by Aunt Petunia.

Its new higher level of clean didn't last long, however, as Ron Weasley came rushing out of the fancy fireplace in a rush of soot and ash and green sparks. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon swore, and Harry was pretty sure he heard a whimper from Dudley. He grinned.

"Oi, mate," Ron greeted Harry as he brushed the ash and soot from his robes.

"Hey, Ron," Harry replied, his grin widening. Apparently it hadn't stretched to its full extent however, because when Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley popped out of the fireplace after Ron, it widened farther still. Fred and George grinned back at him and offered him identical salutations.

"Hiya, Harry," with a wave of one hand and a wink. Arthur waved to Harry as well and then directed his attention to the Dursleys, who were sitting as if turned to stone on the couch.

"Well, we'd best be going, so a short farewell." He bowed his head and the twins chorused a cheery, "Yeah, see ya!" Ron waved though it was quite obviously not genuine. Harry snorted.

"Bye," he said shortly. Then he took the handful of Floo Powder Ron was offering. Without hesitation, Harry stepped right in to the fireplace, dropped the powder and shouted, "The Burrow!"

In a swirl of green he was whisked away to his destination. The last thing Harry heard before stepping out into the kitchen of the Weasley household was Petunia screaming again and the twins laughing.

"Hullo, Mrs. Weasley." As soon as she heard his voice, Mrs. Weasley rushed over to Harry and began fussing over him. She tsked over how terribly skinny he was, she brushed soot and ash from his robes, she checked and double checked his glasses to make sure they weren't broken, and tried desperately, though futilely, to flatten his unruly hair.

"Oh, let him be, mum," Ron muttered, stepping out of the fireplace behind Harry. Mrs. Weasley tsked at him too, but she stopped anyway.

"Well, well, who's this?" an unfamiliar voice asked in a cheerful and friendly tone. A tall, muscular redhead Harry had never seen before stepped into the kitchen from the hallway just as Fred and George stepped together out of the fireplace.

"Oho!" the twins cried, rushing forward.

"This, Charlie, dear brother of mine –" George began.

"– is none other than the great –" Fred continued.

"– the famous –"

"– the awe-inspiring –"

"– all powerful –"

"– Harry Potter!" With a flourish Fred lifted Harry's fringe to show off his scar. Then the twins were pushing him forward toward Charlie.

"He's our best mate, you know," George claimed.

"Wonderful guy, really," Fred confirmed.

"Excellent company –" George went on.

"– and our partner in crime," Fred finished. Both twins gave Harry a wink and George patted Harry's back pocket where he knew, somehow, Harry had stuffed the Marauder's Map when he'd nearly forgotten it.

"I see," Charlie said happily, punching Harry playfully on the shoulder. Harry grinned shyly at him. Charlie winked.

"What are you two rambling on about now?" Another redhead had walked around the corner now. His flaming hair was much longer than any of the other Weasleys', even Ginny's or Mrs. Weasley's. It was tied back and this new arrival had an earring with a tooth hanging from it and a fuzzy-looking red goatee.

"Oi! Bill!" George jumped in excitedly.

"Meet Harry!" Fred exclaimed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Ron scolded his brothers from over in the corner by the fireplace. "He's my friend, I'll do the introductions." Ron walked over to them and gripped Harry by the elbow, waving Fred and George away. He then turned to the other two redheads.

"Bill, Charlie," he said. "This is Harry Potter, my best mate. Harry, these are my other two brothers, Bill and Charlie. Bill's the Cursebreaker, Charlie works with the dragons."

"Right." Harry nodded, holding out a hand to shake. Bill took it first, then Charlie. They both had calloused, rough hands and were very strong.

"Boys." Ginny had chosen that moment to walk in. She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and headed over to greet her father who had just come out of the Floo. "When're we leaving, Dad?" Mr. Weasley clapped an affectionate hand on his daughter's shoulder and grinned around at the rest of the room.

"We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning," he informed them. "So you'd all better get a nice good night's sleep. You don't want to miss anything."

"Yes, yes, best get to bed," Mrs. Weasley agreed. "Ron, why don't you show Harry up to your room?"

"Right." Ron led Harry out of the room and up the stairs. And up the stairs. And up the stairs. And up…

"Alright then, here we are." Ron opened the door to his Chudley Cannons dominated room. Harry grinned around at it. It felt good to be here again. Harry quickly slipped off his glasses and doffed his shoes and socks. He set his glasses on the bedside table next to the cot set up for him and slid his shoes underneath. Then he shimmied out of his jeans and shrugged off his t-shirt so that he was wearing nothing but his boxers and a black tank. Then he climbed under the covers and promptly fell asleep, excitement flooding his dreams with wild Quidditch moves.

The morning dawned bright and early. Very, very early. Nearly everyone was grumpy and none of them wanted to change out of their pyjamas. Hermione showed up when Harry was still in his underwear, embarrassing him and adding to the chaos. Finally, they all managed to stuff their faces with a decent amount of food and they headed out.

The walk to the top of Stoatshead Hill was long and tiring. When they finally reached the top they found two people waiting for them already, holding a ratty old boot between them.

"Oh, hello, Arthur!" the older one called, dropping the boot into the other's arms and waving. "We were beginning to think you wouldn't show!"

"Oh, no," Mr. Weasley told him. "No, Amos, it's just a bit of a walk is all."

"Yes, of course, of course," replied Amos distractedly, taking in Mr. Weasley's little entourage. "Merlin's beard, these all yours?"

"No, no, goodness no!" Mr. Weasley pointed to Harry and Hermione. "Those two are just our guests," he said. "Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

"Harry Potter, did you say? _The_ Harry Potter?" Harry rolled his eyes. Not this again.

"Yes, that's the one," Mr. Weasley confirmed. "But let's not goggle, shall we? Tends to make a man self-conscious." Amos nodded, but he looked like he wanted to disagree. Instead, he turned to the other person.

"You've met my son, haven't you Arthur?" he asked, gesturing the boy forward to say hello. "Cedric."

"Cedric Diggory?" one of the twins demanded.

"Yup, that's me," Cedric declared.

"Beat Potter at Quidditch, this one did," Amos bragged, clapping his son proudly on the back.

"That wasn't a fair match, Dad –" Cedric began modestly.

"Oh, but it was, Ced!" Amos argued. "He fell off his broom and you didn't!"

"There were Dementors," Harry hissed coldly, his fists clenching on the straps of his bag, knuckles going white.

"Oh, yes, well…" Amos Diggory quickly became awkward, digging a toe into the dirt and bowing his head like a school boy caught doing something wrong by his favourite teacher.

"Portkey should be about ready!" Mr. Weasley changed the subject loudly.

"Right." They all circled around the old tatty shoe and each managed to touch some part of it. It glowed blue for a few seconds, just enough to catch Harry's interest and then he felt a sharp tugging pull behind his navel. He almost said _ghlk_, but changed his mind last minute. Then suddenly, Harry's feet slammed into the ground. He looked around. From what he could see between the mass of arms around him, he guessed they were no longer on Stoatshead Hill.

"Oi, Arthur, Amos," said a voice from behind Harry. They all turned to see a wizard looking quite the weirdo in a kilt and poncho.

"Hello, Basil," Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory greeted. The poncho-clad wizard nodded to both and then directed them to there camps, turning away and murmuring to himself as they set off.

It turned out they had one of the best spots, right next to the field Mr. Weasley informed them. They would be one of the firsts in their seats. They set up their tents, which were not nearly as shabby inside as they were out, and started up a campfire, with lots of help from Hermione. After that was done, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went off in search of water, travelling the long way to the spout in order to explore the camp.

There were witches and wizards everywhere. Little girls racing round the fires on mini little brooms while their brothers summoned up giant slugs in the front yards of their tents. Scolding mothers and yawning fathers and cheerful teenagers. A few African-looking-and-sounding young men that appeared to be telling ghost stories, though Harry couldn't tell for sure, as he only spoke English.

Then everything was green. Everything was covered from top to bottom with shamrocks. Little grinning faces that appeared out of tents blanketed over with four-leaf clovers looked like they could easily be tricky little elves up for a joke any time. Like they could send Fred and George on a run for their money.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione!" someone called. They turned. Seamus, sitting in front of a tent identical to the other shamrock swamped ones all around, sitting with his mother and Dean Thomas. "Like the decorations, then? Ministry doesn't seem to approve much." They each grinned and told the three how much they absolutely loved their shamrock-ness and then set off again.

Next they ran into a whole lot of red. They looked a bit closer and saw that every surface was covered in posters. Posters of a surly-looking chap with big bushy eyebrows and a nose to rival Snape's. The bushy-eyebrowed-big-nosed-chap blinked at them and scowled.

"That's Krum," Ron told them. "Viktor Krum, Bulgarian seeker. Only eighteen, I think. Best there is. Bloody brilliant, he is."

They finally reached the water tap and then hurried off back to their tent, on the way running into Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan, and Cho Chang. Harry couldn't help but think she was very pretty. He also couldn't help but think she was a very excellent seeker either. Thinking back to the last time he'd played Ravenclaw, he figured she might even be able to beat him, if she really set her mind to it.

When they eventually managed to return to their tent, all the rest of the Weasleys were sitting round the fire while Mr. Weasley introduced each and every Ministry witch or wizard that walked by and told them all what they did and how well. There was a lot of very uninteresting stuff going on at the Ministry, apparently, but there were a fair few points of excitement as well. Unspeakables, for instance, Harry thought. The Department of Mysteries. Nobody knew what went on in there except for the people who did it all, and they never talked, did they? Hence the name.

They soon met Ludo Bagman, head of Magical Games and Sports and a very cheerful fellow. He greeted them all rather obnoxiously and loudly asked Mr. Weasley to repeat Harry's name a few times. He then made a bet with the twins and bounced along on his way, jingling his coins with every step.

After that came old Barty Crouch, who wasn't nearly as pleasant. In fact, he reminded Harry a bit of Uncle Vernon; only his moustache was a lot smaller and much more perfect. There was conversation of Bulgarians wanting more seats, illegal flying carpets, and tea from 'Weatherby' as Mr. Crouch called Percy. The twins thought this highly amusing and promised to never let Percy live it down. Then Ludo apparently almost let slip about something happening at Hogwarts and Mr. Crouch bid the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione good day for both of them and sped them away.

Interesting.

They went out then and got themselves some souvenirs and flags and such, then, as they made it back to the tent, a gong sounded and it was time for the game.

Two very exciting mascot shows later, the came truly began. Each team member was introduced as they flew onto the pitch and circled once around the goal hoops. Then, without further ado the game began.

God, Harry loved Quidditch.

Severus had never really seen the attraction of Quidditch. As he sat just below the Top Box where Potter and his cronies were no doubt enjoying this rubbish thoroughly, Severus watched it with utter distaste. The game was rough and many of the athletes played dirty. He really didn't see the point in chasing around two balls while running away from two others.

However, he had to watch the pointless waste of time fun-and-games, because dear old Dumbledore had told him to. He had to watch out for anything mysterious, Dumbledore had said. Keep an eye out for something strange, he'd told him. What a nut, Severus thought angrily. Like anything could happen here, of all places, amid festivities and more Ministry goobers than one could keep track of.

He watched with disinterest while Ireland's chasers fed Bulgaria's keeper his arse on a silver platter. He rolled his eyes as Krum pulled off two Wronski Feints. He snorted with disgust as beaters illegally beat Blugders where they weren't supposed to. He prayed to the heavens for God's mercy and a nice strike of lightning to just kill him now when the Bulgarian mascots, Veela tried to seduce the ref into changing his mind on a call. He sighed in relief when finally Krum caught the Snitch to save Bulgaria from an even more spectacular loss and the game was over.

Cheering Irishmen and sulking Bulgarians made their way back to their tents while Severus happily headed back to the dungeons of Hogwarts to enjoy the rest of his beloved summer in peace and quiet.

Little did he know, he left just a little too soon.

Sleep was good. Harry loved sleep. He could sleep all day long and be perfectly happy about it. Sleep was…

Interrupted.

Harry opened his eyes blearily and blinked up at the ceiling in sleepy confusion. How dare someone interrupt sleep? Sleep was the all-powerful love of Harry's life! Slowly, Harry came to his wakeful senses and realized somewhat reluctantly that his sleeping had probably been disturbed for a good reason. He turned his head to the side to see what was going on in the rest of the tent.

He saw a blurry redheaded blob rushing around rousing three others. He guessed the first blob was Mr. Weasley, but just to be sure he reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his glasses. Slipping the glasses over his ears, Harry sat up and took another look around.

He'd guessed right. It was Mr. Weasley running around getting Ron and the twins to get out of bed. He was shouting too, and looked terrified. Percy, Bill, and Charlie were on the other side of the tent, whispering worriedly in a corner. Harry's gut clenched. What was going on?

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "What happened?" Harry dodged a pillow as a grouchy Ron rolled onto the floor with a thud. Drowsy and mumbling twins leaned on each other while they rubbed sleep from their still closed eyes.

"Up! Up! Get up!" Mr. Weasley urged them. "Hurry!" Harry leapt out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans. "No! No time to get dressed. Get out of the tent and head over to the field. Get the girls and stay close." He was rushing Harry and his sons out of the tent now, explained to them that he, Percy, Bill, and Charlie were off to help the Ministry and reminded them again to hurry over to the Quidditch field on the other side of the wood.

Harry, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all hurried, staying together as best they could back toward where the game had been played. It wasn't until they saw Malfoy leaning calmly on the trunk of a tree, usual smirk in place that Harry realized he didn't have his wand. He, Ron, and Hermione told Fred, George, and Ginny that they were going to head back to find it and that they'd meet them at the field when they'd found it.

The trio had been hell bent on retrieving Harry's wand, but when they saw the destruction back at the campsite, they panicked. There were several drunken wizards huddled in a group, trampling tents and people and setting fire to things as they made their way trough the camp. With magic they were controlling four people floating high above them. The four people were, even from this distance, obviously muggles and two of them were children.

"We'll find your wand later, mate," Ron said hurriedly, as Hermione's hands, shaking, found their way up to cover her mouth in shock and terror. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and they rushed away back into the woods. They soon found themselves wondering among the rest of the campers, heading again toward the temporary Quidditch pitch. The panicked people all around them were screaming and running around helter-skelter and confusing their senses of direction.

"Why don't we find a quiet place and head out again once most of all this dies down?" Hermione suggested, gesturing at the chaos around her. Ron and Harry nodded and they headed to the side of the path to find a clearing or something of the sort.

It wasn't long till they found what they were looking for and settled in, sitting on tree stumps or little patches of moss and revelling in the fact that the noise was muffled by a small amount of trees now. They could still see the path so that they wouldn't get lost and would also know when it was a good time to start toward the field again.

The peace didn't last long though. It had only been but a few minutes before they heard a little scuffling behind them, like someone moving through bushes. All three of them jumped up and faced the noise. Ron and Hermione drew their wands.

"Who's there?" Ron demanded. "Show yourself!"

"_MORSMORDRE!"_ a harsh male voice replied. Something green shot from the bushes into the sky with a sizzling hiss. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spun on their heels to stare up at a huge glowing green skull with a snake coming out of its mouth that floated in the sky, staring down at them menacingly.

"What the –" Harry began. But he glanced to the right at his friends and was cut off by the looks on their faces. Hermione was shaking again, her hands covering her mouth and she looked positively horror-struck. Ron was as pale as Harry had ever seen him go.

"Oh god," Ron whispered. Then there were several loud cracks, like whips and they found themselves surrounded by wizards of all shapes and sizes and they were all pointing their wands at them. Harry was the first to realize that a spell was on each and every strange wizard's tongue and he grabbed his friends by the fronts of their shirts and yanked them to the ground, the dozens of red jets of light just barely missing them.

Harry slowly raised his head when all the spells had passed and peeked at the wizards that were surrounding them. They appeared to all be in uniform. He peered closer and saw they were Ministry officials, most of them Aurors. He gulped unconsciously.

"Stop! Stop it! That's my son!" Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Weasley came panting up. Mr. Weasley rushed up to them and pulled them to their feet. He hugged Ron first, swearing a lot and telling him how glad he was that he was okay. Next he hugged Harry in about the same manner. He hugged Hermione silently but buried his face in her hair with his arms closed.

"Move aside, Arthur," said a very official, down-to-business sounding voice. Harry looked at the speaker to see that it was Mr. Crouch. Mr. Weasley let go of Hermione and glared at Mr. Crouch.

"Come now, Barty," he snapped. "You can't honestly think they conjured it?" Harry looked back and forth from Mr. Weasley to Mr. Crouch, confused as ever.

"Er… Conjured what?" he asked, feeling stupid. All eyes turned on him.

"The Dark Mark," said one of the Aurors, pointing up at the green skull in the sky. Harry allowed his eyes to look again at it. It inspired a huge fear in his stomach but also anger. He couldn't explain it.

"What's that?" he wondered. The Ministry wizards blinked dumbly at him. He blinked dumbly back. Then Hermione answered.

"It's the mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry," she told him. "When he was powerful, it was conjured over the places where he or his followers had killed." Now all eyes turned on her.

"You seem to know an awful lot about it, missy," accused Mr. Crouch, pointing his wand at Hermione's chest. The other wands all followed his.

"I – I read about it –" she stuttered, backing up.

"Honestly, now!" Mr. Weasley came to her defence. "She's just a teenager. She probably doesn't even have enough power to conjure it, Barty." As Mr. Crouch opened his mouth to argue Ron cut in.

"Look, we didn't conjure it, okay. Someone said an incantation from over there." He pointed to the bushes. "That's all we know." Everyone turned to the bushes Ron had indicated, staring at them as if they held all the answers to life's problems.

"An incantation, you say, boy?" another Auror said.

"Yeah," Ron confirmed. "Morda-morda, or something like that."

"_Morsmordre_," Hermione corrected. Mr. Crouch gave her one last glare before heading in the direction Ron had pointed. There was rustling and mumbling and thumping, thudding, and swearing for a few minutes. Then Mr. Crouch came back and gave Ron a glare as well.

"There's nothing there," he informed them all. He glared from Ron to Hermione and back again accusingly. "If you're lying –"

"Honestly, Barty!" Mr. Weasley interrupted. "They're teenagers for god's sake!" Mr. Crouch drew himself up to his full height, nose in the air, and Apparated away. The rest of the Ministry officials followed. Mr. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione breathed sighs of relief.

"That could do with a bit of explaining," Harry said, annoyed.

"Yes, it could," Mr. Weasley scolded them. "What're you three doing separated from the others?" They rushed into an explanation, telling Mr. Weasley all about Harry not having his wand, going back to find it, then changing their minds when they saw the chaos that waited for them. When they were done, Mr. Weasley sighed and tiredly rubbed his forehead. From a pocket he pulled Harry's wand and handed it over, explaining that it had been in the tent and telling him to be more careful. Harry nodded and took his wand, even throwing in a few 'yes sir's in there.

As they turned to leave the clearing and to get back home as soon as possible, there were two more loud cracks. They all spun round and drew their wands again, just in case. From just outside the clearing stepped none other than Albus Dumbledore, followed reluctantly by a very grumpy-looking Snape.

They'd all sat down on the tree stumps around the clearing, the Weasleys and Granger and Potter all gaping stupidly at them. Dumbledore explained slowly about how Black had written to him about Potter's nightmares. After this there had been a brief confrontation. Apparently Potter had not told his friends. Patiently waiting out the guilty pause that followed, unlike Severus, Dumbledore then proceeded to tell of how he'd informed Severus of the dreams. This was greeted with glares and even a few noses wrinkled in disgust. Severus found he did not care whether Potter's friends disliked the fact that he had known this detail before them. In fact, he was pleased with it. He would later find a way, he decided, to rub it in their faces. Now, he simply smirked at them.

Next, Dumbledore explained all about his bloody necklaces and what a brilliant plan they were and how wonderfully protected Potter would be and blah, blah, blah. The old coot conveniently left out Severus's name as he told them all how the necklaces would make a connection between Potter and his 'protector.' Said connection would prevent the two from being in separate rooms and would even feel the need to be closer when one was worried about the other. If aforementioned worry were to strengthen the necklaces would even desire to touch and soon thereafter connect themselves. The necklaces were impossible to take off except in 'certain circumstances' which, of course, Dumbledore failed to specify. Shortly thereafter, he finally declared that the necklaces would be put on _now_, right this very second.

Potter stared blankly back at Dumbledore when the Headmaster had finished speaking. After blinking stupidly a few times, Potter removed all doubt that he was completely and utterly mentally disabled.

"So... so is it Mr. Weasley, then? My protector, I mean. Or… or Hermione, maybe?" Severus rolled his eyes. Why, oh why, did it always have to be him?

"No, you dolt," he snapped. "It's me. Arthur has work and Granger has separate classes from you. The headmaster, no doubt, has better things to do." That last was said with quite a lot of bitterness. Severus found, once again, that he did not care. Dumbledore had the nerve to smile.

"Indeed," he said. "Severus will be your protector for as long as he is needed to be." Potter and Weasley stared at Dumbledore with nothing short of horror while Granger and the other Weasley simply looked uncomfortable. Severus found himself sneering at them again. They deserved the discomfort, he found himself thinking. Ah, if only there had been some other hated teacher and he could've been left out and watched it all from the sidelines. What a perfect use for popcorn. Too bad. Severus sighed. So much for a pleasant year watching students hurting themselves for glory in the Triwizard Tournament, he thought morosely. Now he had to make sure a student _didn't_ get hurt. What fun was that?

"But – but," Potter was arguing. "We can't put the necklaces on now. It's still summer. I'm at the Weasleys'. He can't stay at the Weasleys'! Professor – Professor, he'd ruin everything. He's a grump. Honestly –" Other Weasley cut in.

"He does have a point, Albus," he agreed, trying to sound reasonable and, in Severus's opinion, failing miserably. "Severus is not exactly the world's most cheerful influence. Not to mention, I think he'd enjoy himself even less than the children."

"Enjoy himself less?!" Weasley shouted now. "Less?! Are you kidding me! His favourite thing to do's make Harry's life hell!" Other Weasley and Granger both gave him a scolding look.

"Please do control yourself, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore said calmly. Weasley's look of horror returned and Severus couldn't help but snort his amusement. As Weasley opened his mouth to start shouting out his disapproval some more, Dumbledore held up one hand while delving the other into the pocket of his robes. Every trace of Severus's amusement was gone now. Dumbledore was getting the necklaces.

As the necklaces and all their pink half-heart and purple girly 'best friends' glory were revealed, Weasley burst into a fit of laughter. It was Potter's turn to re-don his look of horror now, as he laid sight of the girly disgusting pink-ness of the necklaces that would bind him to none other than Severus Snape, his least favourite teacher ever. No doubt they were the last thing he'd been expecting.

"Shut up, Ron," he snarled, pushing Weasley off his tree stump. "Shut it. It's not funny!"

"No – no, it is, Harry," Weasley argued from the ground. "No – think about it. Snape has to wear it, too!" And he collapsed again into hysteria.

"All right, who gets 'best'?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully. Severus and Potter both glared at him. Then they glared at each other. They did not answer. "Oh, come now, gentlemen," Dumbledore urged them. "The best part of 'best friends' charms is deciding who gets what." When they still didn't answer, he chose for them. Potter got 'best,' Severus got 'friends.' Oh, the joy.

After Severus and Potter had been handed their respective necklaces, Dumbledore raised his wand, practically grinning now. They all felt the magic gather, felt it concentrate and then felt it do it's job as Dumbledore spoke the dreaded incantation.

"_Adnexus_."


	3. The Goblet of Fire

Adnexus – The Goblet of Fire – JR

**Adnexus – The Goblet of Fire – JR**

**Summary**:

Harry and Snape struggle to get used to the magic of their new necklaces. They fight and snarl and Gryffindor loses lots of points. Harry's afraid of the dark. The dungeons are creepy. All's fine and well and Dumbledore's plan is working like a charm, no pun intended. But then Harry gets his name somehow put into the Goblet of Fire and is forced into the Triwizard Tournament. But that's all jolly good fun as long as he doesn't die, and isn't that what Snape is for?

**Warnings**:

**SPOILERS** like MAD!! Pre-slash

**Disclaimer**:

The characters in this story do not belong to me. They are the creations of JK Rowling. I am not making any money off of this story. Enjoy!

Sorry it took so long. First I got stuck, then I got a job, then school started up again, then I lost my Fourth Book, then I found it again but was still stuck, and then Snape ran away to cuddle with my sister and I had to steal him back, which was difficult. Anyway, here is chapter three, finally, please read and review and bear with me here. _Jazztrix_

#

Harry awoke at the Burrow to a very awkward silence. It took him a moment, as he surfaced from a deep sleep, to realize why the silence was awkward. Then the memories of last night came back to him in a rush. The fact that Snape knew about his nightmares, the fact that Dumbledore thought Snape best to protect Harry, the fact that Dumbledore had made it practically impossible for Snape to _not_ protect him, and the completely silent Ministry-car ride home. _Awkwardly_ silent.

"Bugger," Harry swore. He sat up and looked across the room. Snape was already awake, staring at Harry in both amusement and annoyance while Ron eyed the Potions Master apprehensively. Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Finally up?" he sneered. "Get dressed; I'd rather not spend the entire day in an attic room of the Weasley Hovel." The other two both glared at him. Harry dressed as slowly as humanly possible, telling himself all the while that he wasn't getting up because Snape had told him to… it was because… because he was hungry. Yeah, that was it. He was hungry.

The next several weeks passed much the same. Harry woke to awkward silence and some rude way of being told to rise every morning. He led Snape down to breakfast, where he was rushed to finish. Then he was asked to join in some game or other with some Weasley or other but was forced to refuse, because Snape didn't want to. Snape wanted to do boring things. He wanted to read. He wanted to think. Who in their right mind spent their free time thinking?

Then they'd have lunch, where Harry would be rushed again, just so Snape could sit in the living room and, well, sit. Then they would have dinner, after which the Weasleys would watch their nightly wizarding movie and Snape would refuse to sit through such nonsense and Harry would be forced to go to bed early. Snape always stayed up late. Sitting. What a dork.

Finally, the morning of September first dawned with its usual chaos. Harry rushed around with the rest, packing his things, stuffing down an insubstantial breakfast, carrying his things downstairs, bumping into people, avoiding Fred and George just in case, and running back upstairs repeatedly to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Harry even went upstairs three extra times, just to annoy Snape, but unfortunately it didn't seem to affect him. Shortly thereafter, Harry found out why.

As the Weasleys were loading trunks and such into the Ministry car that had arrived to take them to King's Cross, Snape stopped just inside the front door, so that Harry couldn't step out of the house. He smirked down at Harry almost evilly.

"You needn't have hurried, Potter," he sneered unpleasantly. "You won't be leaving with them, after all." The greasy git then took a few more steps back into the house and stopped the twins from carrying out Harry's trunk for him. "He'll be leaving with me," he told them, with obvious humour. Harry glared at him angrily. Git.

Snape led Harry into the living room where, no surprise, he sat. And sat. And Harry was bored. Very bored. Like he had been all summer. Snape was _boring_.

#

"Are we leaving yet?" Harry asked impatiently for at least the millionth time. They'd been sitting here for the past two hours, just sitting. The Weasley kids were long gone and their parents went out for lunch after seeing their children off. And so Snape and Harry sat.

"No," Snape told him. Again. Harry groaned.

"Are we ever going to leave?" he whined.

"Yes," Snape replied, with an annoyed sigh.

"Oh, good," said Harry. There was a pause of about ten seconds. "When?"

"Not yet." There was another stretch of silence, this one lasting about five or six minutes in which Harry fidgeted and Snape sat quietly. Then…

"Are we leaving yet?" Harry asked impatiently.

#

When they finally did leave, they did so using Apparition. Harry found he didn't much like Apparition. It felt like being squeezed through a tube that he was too big to really fit through. All in all, a very uncomfortable experience.

They arrived on the dirt road that led from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts and Snape immediately set off at a brisk pace toward the school. With a snap of his fingers, his and Harry's bags rushed on ahead of them at breakneck speed.

When they entered the castle, out of habit, Harry started off toward the Great Hall.

"Not yet," Snape told him irritably.

"Oh, right," Harry muttered, freezing in his tracks before dramatically twisting around, backtracking, and heading instead for the marble staircase that led to the next floor up. Snape rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, trotting lightly down the stone steps leading to the dungeons. There were only a few minuscule seconds in which nothing seemed to be happening. But slowly, the magic Dumbledore had put into the two necklaces Snape and Harry wore sprung into action.

Harry's necklace swung around backwards, so that the tip of the pink half-heart pointed at Snape's downwardly retreating back. Harry didn't even have enough time to wonder what might possibly happen before the half-heart gave a great lurch and he toppled down the stairs with a yelp.

Harry fell down flight after flight of stairs after Snape with many bangs, booms, crashes, cries of pain, and nasty swear words. Down past the Slytherin Common Room, past the dungeon classrooms, past storage rooms, and down further yet, each step like a kick to the ribs. Finally, Harry arrived at his forced-upon destination, landing flat on his back in a doorway, looking dazedly up into the face of his Potions professor.

"So, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled. "Decided to join me, have you?" Harry groaned in response and Snape smirked down at him. The Potions master stepped back out into the hall to push Harry inside his rooms with a foot. While Snape was gathering a few healing potions from the cupboards around his living room, Harry somehow managed to lean his back up against the wall so he could be minutely dignified in a sitting position. Snape came back over and knelt down next to his student, handing over the potions he'd collected from his stores. He pulled out his wand and waved it around a bit, muttering spells under his breath until Harry felt better and they both stood.

Snape led Harry quickly through his personal rooms, showing him only what he had to. Finally, they reached Harry's new room where his trunk was waiting to be unpacked. The room looked almost exactly like the rest; cold stone walls, cold stone floor, no windows, minimal decoration, books the only personal items. The bed was smack dab in the centre of the room. It was a four-poster only it was lacking curtains and it was covered in plain grey sheets. There was no comforter or blanket and the pillow was dilapidated to an extreme. There were only three actual walls. Instead of a fourth, there was a deep green, almost black velvet curtain drawn down the left side, splitting a larger room in half.

Snape gestured irritably at Harry's trunk to tell him to start unpacking before disappearing behind the heavy curtain to his own half of the room, which, unbeknownst to Harry, was quite a bit bigger.

It didn't take Harry long to unpack all his things and arrange them around the room the way he wanted. This was lucky, as it only took about thirty minutes for the rest of the school to show up. It was time for dinner.

The Sorting passed without much event. The Headmaster did his usual pointless opening blurb, and then the food appeared and everything seemed to go back to normal. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, while Snape sat at the Head Table, next to Dumbledore and McGonagall and did not look too happy about it. The Golden Trio talked happily and made jokes. They ate and talked to their peers and even conversed a bit with Nearly Headless Nick, despite the multiple insults Ron had accidentally given the ghost before.

Just before dessert was served, Dumbledore put a pause to the chatter by rising from his seat. It was then that the Headmaster informed them all about the Triwizard Tournament. He told them of the rules and requirements and of the two other schools to be arriving later in the month, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. He described the winnings in great detail as well. A thousand galleons was only the beginning. The winner would have glory, fame, and honour, not to mention a whole hell of a lot of respect. When the Headmaster sat down again, conversation erupted once more, the noise level even louder now than at the start of the Feast.

The younger students excitedly discussed which older ones would submit their names to this so-called impartial judge. The older students bragged loudly that they would assuredly be Hogwarts's Champion. Everyone wondered aloud at what the three tasks would be and what the other two schools would be like.

So dinner was normal, if not a bit more exciting than usual toward the end. That changed, though, when the plates were cleared, the boring yearly notices were given, and the students dismissed. Harry would not be going up to Gryffindor Tower with his friends. He wouldn't be staying up late, telling tales of his summer, trading candy, or predicting the events of the coming school year. No, this year, Harry would be sleeping in the dungeons. With Snape.

With a sigh, Harry looked up at the Head Table where his Potions professor was standing. He nodded to McGonagall and Dumbledore, with a few words to the latter, and headed for the door behind the staff's seats. Harry scrambled up quickly and rushed in the door's general direction, unwilling to repeat today's earlier experience, but he was too late.

Summoning forth a yelp of pain and a thigh that was probably bruised something horrible; Harry's necklace gave a hearty tug, pulling him into the table before him. Harry swore quietly as the necklace desisted in light of the obstacle and rubbed his painful thigh. With a growl and some muttering, Harry set off toward the door again at a more leisurely pace.

This was a bad idea, however, for the necklace was apparently just taking a little break. In a matter of seconds, Harry was being pulled out of the Great Hall at breakneck speed, stubbing his toe quite a few times on the way.

Down the stairs to Snape's dungeon rooms, Harry had tried his best to stay on his feet. He stumbled a bit, though, and was dragged across a couple landings, but fortunately, he kept all his ribs intact this time.

There was no talking. At all. They went straight to bed without a word. The light was banished, pyjamas were donned, and covers were drawn up. There was silence. Harry didn't know how much time passed of him staring up at the ceiling in discomfort, but he figured Snape must already be asleep. He couldn't hear anything from the other side of the curtain, but that could possibly be that Snape had enchanted it. Harry wouldn't put it past the Potions Master to do so. All Harry really knew at the moment was that the dungeons spooked him.

There were echoes and creepy sounds from upstairs one floor that sounded like they could be laughter in the Slytherin Common Room. The shadows were long and the walls were cold and comfortless, much unlike the ones up in Gryffindor Tower that were covered with posters and other personal items. There were bubbling sounds coming from Snape's office next door, and thinking of Snape's office reminded Harry of all the creepy dead things floating around in jars that Snape seemed to collect.

The memory of Snape collecting creepy dead things inspired a wakeful nightmare in which Snape was some sort of evil scientist from a bad Muggle horror movie. Harry's gut clenched and he glanced nervously at the curtain in a fit of self-induced fear. Eventually, Harry rolled over, buried his head in his pillow, and covered up his ears.

His night was not a pleasant one.

#

Harry awoke in the morning grumpy, tired, and far from refreshed. For a moment, he couldn't remember why, but soon he recalled the spooks of the night before and shivered. He rubbed sleep from his eyes with a soft groan.

The curtain separating the two halves of the room was ripped aside, and Snape strode quickly past with a scowl.

"Get up, Potter," he snapped irritably. "I'll not be late because of you." Harry rolled his eyes and stood up, digging around in his trunk for his school uniform. After he managed to get himself properly dressed, Harry strolled into the kitchen area with a confidence that wasn't really there and plopped himself down on a barstool.

"So who's attending whose classes?" he inquired lightly as he could. Snape gave Harry a look that clearly called him many names, all of which insulted his intelligence, but Harry was used to looks like these from Snape and ignored it.

"I will be attending your classes, as teachers can be substituted for. Students on the other hand, actually need to be at their classes to have anything at all accomplished, not that I suspect you'll manage as much either way."

"Right," Harry said with a nod and another roll of the eyes. He was pretty used to that as well. He reached across the table and grabbed a green apple from a bowl of fruit resting on it, only to have his hand smacked away by an irate Potions Master.

"Breakfast is in the Great Hall. Pester your bratty friends with your disastrous table manners, not me," Harry's professor snarled at him. Snape then turned on his heel, preparing to make his grand exit. Harry wrinkled his nose at Snape's back as he stood to follow his least favourite teacher.

"Not much of a morning person, then, huh?" he muttered.

#

Harry never could understand why Snape walked so bloody fast. It had never been a problem before, but now it most definitely was and Harry's neck was letting him know it.

"If you can't keep up, Potter –"

"What?" Harry demanded angrily, interrupting Snape and rubbing his sore neck, which had greatly dampened his already not particularly good mood. "What're you gonna do?" Snape ground his teeth for a few minutes before replying in venomous tones.

"Move faster."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Harry snapped. "Breakfast isn't going to get up and run away." In response, Snape stepped quickly through the door of the Great Hall, causing the magic of the necklaces around each of their necks to activate. Harry's necklace pulled him through the door after Snape, and Harry bumped into the Potions Master.

"Watch where you are going, Potter! You complete and utter imbecile!" Snape snarled at Harry.

"It's your fault, you git!" Harry yelled back. "You're the one who's in such a bloody rush!" Snape narrowed his eyes threateningly at Harry.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for the name calling, Potter, and detention," he said.

"What's the point of giving me detention?" Harry growled. "I'm stuck with you anyway."

"If you are in detention, Potter," Snape explained. "then you are stuck with me in a place of my choosing." He turned and stalked off toward the staff table.

"I changed my mind," Harry yelled after him. "You're not a git; you're a greasy pillow-biting arsehole!" Snape whirled around, fists clenched and fire burning in his eyes, about to reply, but Dumbledore got there before he could open his mouth.

"Now, now, gentlemen," Dumbledore scolded, though the effect was greatly reduced by the twinkle in his eye and the smile on his lips. "This problem is simply your communication, or lack there of."

"The hell it is!" the other two argued. Dumbledore held up a hand and shook his head at them, smile growing in spite of him.

"All you need to do is cooperate," he told them softly. "Just work together." The flood of protests that poured from Harry and Snape then were very, very loud indeed.

"….cannot expect me…."

"….not humanly possible…."

"….incompetent little brat…."

"….bloody git…."

"….finally gone insane…."

"….how can you even…."

Dumbledore's smile brightened considerably as he said, "See, you've discovered something to agree on already." He then left the Great Hall in obvious high spirits. Harry and Snape gawked after him, in a shock just as obvious as Dumbledore's elation. Slowly, they turned to each other.

"Let's not give him the satisfaction of seeing that work, shall we?" Snape asked.

"Yeah sure." Harry nodded.

"Good," Snape replied. "I still have power over you and you get no say, peachy?" Without waiting for an answer, Snape set off toward his seat again.

"Hey!" Harry called after Snape. "That's not fair."

"Such is life, Mr. Potter," said Snape. "Besides, that was quite my point." Harry glared at him for a minute before grumpily sitting down to his own breakfast.

#

Apparently, Snape did not reserve being a bastard to his own classes. Every single class Harry had that day was hell. With Snape breathing over his shoulder every minute, Harry was much more likely to make a mistake, which Snape never missed and was sure to sneer at.

"…Amazingly you have managed to produce a _pink_ matchbox, Potter. Even _I_ could not have guessed you were _that_ incompetent." "It's not _pink_! It's… mauve." "It's _pink_, Potter, _pink_…"

"…I will give you, Mr. Potter, the fact that this subject – as well as the professor – is utter rubbish, but even that does not permit you to provide that sorry excuse for divination as your homework…"

"…The incantation is _Circino_, Potter, not _Cirkeeno_…" "I said _Circino_!" "Then why, pre tell, did the spell not work?..."

But Harry didn't let it bother him. He tried his best to pay more attention to the professor teaching the class, rather than the one sitting in the shadows by the door being as insulting as possible. Potions was horrible, even by its normal standards, and Snape seemed to enjoy making Harry fall down the stairs and show up to class late a lot. Fortunately, there was one class in which Snape had no comment.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was just as good this year as it had been last. Sure, Harry missed Remus, but he liked Moody almost as much. Moody had really been there. He knew what he was talking about and he wasn't afraid to say what needed to be said. He was rough and tough and his class was not for the light-hearted. Harry felt sorry for the Hufflepuffs.

Their very first class, Moody bashed up the Ministry a bit, which Harry could not deny was enjoyable. Moody claimed the Ministry was weak and didn't give out the information that the students needed to keep themselves safe. He told them that the Ministry didn't approve of him and that they frowned upon Dumbledore's staffing in general. He also told them that he could be arrested and carted off to Azkaban for what he was about to show them. Moody then proceeded to demonstrate the three Unforgivable Curses: the Cruciatus (_Crucio_); the Imperius (_Imperio_); and the Killing Curse (_Avada_ _Kedavra_). Harry couldn't help but flinch at the last.

Despite the harshness of Moody's teaching style, the class was an immediate hit throughout the school. Everyone was talking about the newest professor. Except Snape. Harry thought it strange that Snape held his tongue about Moody. It seemed to him that Snape always had something to say, usually derogatory, of course, but still. He did notice, though, that Moody and Snape seemed to already have met somewhere. They appeared to hate each other. Late in the week, Harry finally remembered that Moody was an ex-Auror and had to bite back a laugh.

Talked about even more than Moody and his Defence classes was the up-coming Triwizard Tournament. Harry was just as excited as everybody else. He couldn't wait to see what the trials were and who would be competing on behalf of Hogwarts. He heard a rumour go around that Angelina Johnson was going to get in and knock Durmstrang and Beauxbatons dead. Knowing there was some minor fact for the word to be based upon; Harry wished his team-mate luck while Snape sneered at her. No doubt the Potions Master suspected one of his own house to be Champion.

Finally, the day of Beauxbatons's and Durmstrang's arrivals were upon them, and the students of Hogwarts huddled together outside, all whispering excitedly and doing a bad job at following the rules.

Nobody knew what to expect. As far as they'd been informed, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had not written to say how they were coming or where they'd show up. So the entire school turned out to stand in the cold outside the Entrance Hall. They were split up first by house, and then by year. The first, second, and third year Gryffindors huddled amongst their friends in front of Harry and his own. McGonagall stood in front of her line of brave students and Snape, on the other side of Hufflepuff's and Ravenclaw's lines, stood at the head of his own group of clever snakes. Harry was glad of the distance. For the first time in an entire week, he couldn't hear whatever rude remark the Head of Slytherin was surely making.

Harry was snapped out of his wistful Snape-less thoughts by the arrival of a loud and obnoxious horse-drawn carriage. The thing that was so loud and obnoxious about it was that, not only did it fly, but it was also gigantic. Even Hagrid, Harry decided, plus the whole of Gryffindor could fit in that carriage comfortably, no problem.

The door of the carriage (which was powder blue and gold) sprung open and a set of three golden stairs descended from its floor to the ground of Hogwarts's lawn. Several beautiful blonde girls stepped lightly from the giant carriage, each dressed in powder blue robes that went only to their knees, with golden clasps at their necks and matching slippers that ended in an elf-like point. After the beautiful blonde girls came beautiful blonde boys. They reminded Harry a bit of Malfoy, only dressed in sleeveless powder blue robes and hats with golden feathers in the brims. The beautiful blonde group of powder blue covered students marched through the castle doors with their noses in the air, each turning back to make a curtsy or a bow to their Hogwarts peers. Ron stifled a laugh and leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear.

"Bloody French," he muttered with another snort. Harry grinned at his best mate and rolled his eyes before turning to look back at the enormous carriage. Stepping from it now was a woman Harry was sure would be just as beautiful as her students, if not more, if only she weren't so huge. She was twice as tall as Dumbledore, who was easily the tallest person in Hogwarts, aside from Hagrid of course, and three times as thick. She was only slightly smaller than Hagrid himself, and that was only because of the natural shape of her body. Maybe she only appeared smaller. The woman was wearing a very flattering black satin dress and stiletto heals (as if she needed to be taller), as well as a black opal on a gold chain. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun, secured with gold chopsticks.

"Madame Maxime," Dumbledore greeted the huge woman, not even having to bend to kiss the back of her hand. She offered her own salutations to the Headmaster and was then led inside by her retreating students, just in time for a boat to rise abruptly from the centre of the lake with a roaring splash. A rotted looking gangplank landed on the bank of the lake with a thunk and a skittering away of frightened creatures of both land and sea.

Several girls screamed and clung to each other as two men descended the gangplank onto the lawns of Hogwarts. Harry squinted to see who they were and what the fuss was about. He didn't recognize the first, but the second he knew immediately.

"It's Krum," he and Ron said in unison, turning to each other to gape in awe. They both looked back to where Krum and the other man were coming towards them, followed by the rest of Durmstrang's designated students. "Damn." Hermione rolled her eyes at the lot of them.

"Ah, Igor," Dumbledore murmured to the man at Krum's shoulder.

"Dumbledore," the man replied. His voice was cold despite the warm, cheerful smile plastered onto his face. Though, now that Harry looked closer, he saw that the smile did not even come close to reaching the man's eyes. He felt a sudden inexplicable urge to look over at Snape. He heeded the feeling and stole a glance over at the Potions Master, to see that Snape did not seem to like this new man very much. The man, however, seemed to be delighted to see Snape, and greeted him jovially.

"Severus!" He bounced over and seized Snape's hand in one of his own, shaking it vigorously. Snape did not look at all happy. In fact, he looked like he'd swallowed something faintly resembling cold calamari that had previously been cooked the wrong way. Harry shuddered. Snape didn't even look at _him_ with that much disgust.

"Karkaroff." Snape's voice when he addressed the man before him, who Harry assumed was the Headmaster of Durmstrang, was much, much colder than Harry had ever heard it. He shivered again.

The Durmstrang students and their Headmaster all proceeded to ascend the stairs into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, Karkaroff looking rather put off. Harry wondered what he'd done to make Snape hate him so much. But then again Harry hadn't ever done anything to Snape, and Snape hated him, so maybe Karkaroff was innocent, but Harry doubted that for some reason.

The Hogwarts students followed their guests into the Great Hall, sitting at their house tables, while the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons representatives chose Slytherin and Ravenclaw respectively.

Dumbledore took his place at the Head Table, standing and waiting for quiet. When it finally fell, he smiled welcomingly around at the foreign students in his midst and held out his arms as if to hug them all at a distance.

"To ladies, gentlemen, ghosts, and our lovely guests," he said happily. "A very warm welcome and a good evening. I do very much hope you will all enjoy your stay at Hogwarts and will take comfort within her walls. As you all know, this wonderful get-together is, in the most part, because of the happening of the Triwizard Tournament. It will officially begin at the end of this welcoming feast, which I hope each and every person here will find delectable. Now, if you will, eat, drink, converse and make yourselves very much at home." He sat and food appeared, prompting everyone to tuck in.

Shortly thereafter, Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch showed up, fashionably late and took their places on either side of Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. They must have been the other two judges, Harry reasoned, as he couldn't think of any other reason why they would be there.

Dinner was soon finished, and Harry stuffed. Though, when he saw the mounds upon mounds of treacle tart that showed up next, he surmised that he was not quite stuffed enough and took several helpings.

When dessert was finally cleared from their plates as well, Dumbledore stood again, looking to the sharp eye to be slightly less thin than before. Smiling once more and spreading his arms again, he spoke to the suddenly silent room.

"It is time," he said, as Filch brought out a wooden chest. "Here are your instructions, those who wish and are able to enter, and further details for those who are simply interested. There will be three tasks to complete within the tournament. Each will test the champions in different ways; their magical prowess, for example, their daring, their powers of deduction, and their ability to deal with dangerous situations." The utter silence within the Great Hall deepened considerably. It seemed that each and every person in the room was holding their breath, waiting.

"And now," Dumbledore continued, loudly, cheerfully, and rather obnoxiously if put into context. "It is time to introduce you all to the impartial judge that will choose the champions for each school; the Goblet of Fire." With a creaky complaint from the chest, Dumbledore pulled out an unremarkable wooden cup that Harry thought was a bit too plain to be called a goblet. But there was something special about it. There were ice-blue flames leaping around in its depths.

"If you wish to be considered for your school's champion," Dumbledore explained. "You are to write your name and school on a scrap of parchment and place it within the Goblet. You have twenty-four hours to do so. At the end of our evening meal tomorrow, the Goblet will give back three names." Dumbledore paused here and looked around at the Great Hall once more, this time in complete seriousness.

"I must insist that underage students not submit their names for consideration. Your attempts will be hindered, I assure you, but if you do manage to get past the protective magic I will be putting up, there is no turning back. The Goblet creates a binding magical contract. If you find yourself with second thoughts or cold feet, you will have to compete anyway. You cannot change your mind. Now, I do believe that it is quite time for bed." That was their dismissal. They all rose and headed for the double doors at the front of the Great Hall. All except Harry. Harry went up to the Head Table, reluctantly following Snape out the door behind it.

Before either could get anywhere, Karkaroff rushed up to them. He glared at Harry, at first, but upon realizing who he was, he gaped like a dead fish.

"Can I help you, Igor?" Snape sneered in mock polite tones, though his voice was still colder than Harry had ever heard it before.

"Oh, yes, right." Karkaroff's head snapped up from Harry's forehead to rest his eyes on Snape's face instead. He opened his mouth to continue, but stopped just in time, it seemed, and narrowed his eyes once more on Harry. "Don't you have friends to go pester?"

Harry smiled. He'd heard _a lot_ of that so far this year. He looked up at Snape with a sarcastically adoring look, saying, "I'd much rather pester my _favourite_ teacher _ever_." Harry was proud to see Snape stiffen considerably. Karkaroff gave Harry a look that made him feel rather like a slug that'd been salted.

"Well," the Durmstrang Headmaster said, wrinkling his nose. "I'll just come back later, then, Severus, when you're not being pestered." Snape snorted in reply, expressing immense doubt that he would ever not be pestered, but Karkaroff took no notice and headed off back toward his ship and his students.

"Well, he's nearly as pleasant as you are, Professor," Harry told Snape as they set off down the stone stairs back to the dungeons.

"Watch it, Potter," Snape replied. "You wouldn't want your _favourite_ teacher _ever_ to make you fall down the stairs again, now would you?" Harry reluctantly fell silent, even though he was very curious about Karkaroff and what he had to say to Snape, alone. Gleefully, he created a scenario within his head that Snape and Karkaroff were secretly in love and acted like they hated each other to throw people off the track. He imagined a romantic dinner between the two, laughing as he gave all the mushy lines from bad movies to Snape.

"I've missed the joke, Potter," Snape snapped at Harry's chuckle. "What is so funny?" Harry grinned.

"Nothing, Professor," he said cheekily. "Nothing at all." By way of retaliation, Snape quickened his pace and when they got to his door, he stepped once to the right. Harry couldn't move to Snape's other side quick enough and ended up running into the stone wall with a thud.

"Ow," he moaned. Snape laughed, but unless his ears were deceiving him, Harry thought it sounded false. He ended up thinking about Karkaroff again, and Snape's tone toward the Durmstrang Headmaster. _That_ most certainly didn't seem false. Harry's curiosity jumped into hyper-drive.

#

That night, Harry stayed up to study Snape while he read. He didn't do so openly; he pretended to be doing his homework. Snape, Harry deduced eventually, did not seem to be fooled, but he didn't do anything about it, which made Harry highly suspicious of him.

Around curfew, Karkaroff's head appeared in the fire, the flames going emerald green. Harry jumped about a foot in the air at suddenly finding someone speaking who wasn't there a second before, but he quickly recovered upon seeing who it was. Maybe he would get to satisfy some of his curiosity. It seemed, however, that Karkaroff had noticed Harry the moment his head had popped into the fire. He _tsk_ed.

"Are you allowed to entertain students in your rooms now, Severus?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, like and unlike Snape at the same time. Harry grinned and lounged luxuriously in his chair.

"Jealous?" he wondered with a wink. He hoped he wasn't blushing. That would ruin the effect. Apparently he'd pulled it off, though, because both Karkaroff and Snape glared at him angrily and with much disgust.

"I will return when you're not… ah… _busy_," Karkaroff growled, and his head disappeared. Snape immediately stood, uncharacteristically tossing his book aside as if it were nothing. He grabbed the front of Harry's robes, scattering the boy's un-started homework everywhere.

"Do _not_ give that man a reason to dislike you, Potter," Snape snarled, his nose only inches from Harry's, his cold breath washing over Harry's face. To Harry's surprise, it didn't smell bad, but instead like mint. He didn't have long to notice this, though, because curiosity was taking over his brain again.

"Why not?" he asked quietly. With an exasperated sigh, Snape released him and he flumped back onto the chair he'd been sitting on before, crumpling quite a few bits of parchment beneath him. Snape ran a frustrated hand through his black hair.

"Igor Karkaroff was once a Death Eater, Potter," he said, pacing. Harry might have thought Snape had forgotten he was here, had the Potions Master not addressed him. "He got out of being holed up in Azkaban for the rest of his life by giving out names of other Death Eaters who'd not been caught yet, saying he'd changed his ways and realized his mistakes. But, Potter, any man can lie, especially to save his own skin." Snape paused, looking at Harry to find that his mouth was hanging open and he'd gone slightly pale. Snape smirked and continued.

"Karkaroff runs his school like a place to learn the Dark Arts. It's nothing against his students, but under his guidance, most of them become Dark Wizards. He figures he can make up for the Death Eaters he turned in by making new ones, younger ones for the Dark Lord. He is no doubt wrong. If ever a Death Eater has the change to kill him, they will. But he would do the same to anyone he deems an enemy, and he would do it in such a way that he would not be caught, so _watch your tongue_, Potter, and _behave_."

Harry gulped and thought this over for a bit. Finally, he worked up all his courage and tried not to remind himself that he was _alone_ with Snape, and asked a question.

"Do you hate him so much because he's a Dark Wizard, or because he turned in other Death Eaters?" To Harry's great surprise (and relief) Snape did not attack or yell or scream or even glare. Instead he laughed, a cruel mirthless laugh, granted, but still a laugh.

"You don't trust me, Potter?" he sneered. Harry gulped and shook his head once. Snape smirked at him. "Perhaps you're not as stupid as I'd once thought." With that Snape headed to his room, Harry forced to follow, and they went to bed.

Harry had nightmares again that night, this time about Death Eaters, Dark Wizards in Training, and what Snape had meant by saying Harry wasn't stupid not to trust him…

#

Breakfast the next morning was very loud and exciting. All the people who wanted to get into the Triwizard Tournament were entering their names, the flames in the Goblet swallowing their parchment up amid cheers and boo's.

The entire ship-full of Durmstrang students, lead proudly in by Karkaroff, each entered their names one by one. Just like at the arrival last night, several girls screamed and clung to each other when Viktor Krum put forth his parchment. The Goblet seemed to like his name particularly well.

The Beauxbatons lot came after them, each curtsying or bowing to the Goblet after putting in their name, and then to their Headmistress before taking their seats at the Ravenclaw table. Several people rolled their eyes at the French students.

Soon after that, Warrington, from Slytherin, who looked rather like a sloth, put in his name for Hogwarts. There were a few cheers, mostly from his own house, but many more boos, mostly from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Harry decided he like the Hufflepuffs. They had good sense.

After Warrington, came Angelina Johnson. There was a lot more cheering for her, and she took her seat at the Gryffindor table looking kind of embarrassed, but proud. Then was Cedric Diggory, for whom a tumult of sound erupted from the Hufflepuff table. Harry clapped politely, but he hoped Angelina got it, not Diggory.

#

The day passed with absolutely no event. Harry followed Snape around while the Potions Master worked in the dungeons. Harry guessed he was trying to invent something, because he seemed to think about each ingredient before putting it in.

Later, Harry somehow convinced Snape to 'take a break' and let him out on the grounds. Harry had no idea how he managed it, but he also got to visit Hagrid with Ron and Hermione. Even if the visit was only about five minutes long, it was still a visit, and Harry was glad of it.

They hung out by the lake for a while, Snape looking extremely bored, while Harry tickled the Giant Squid until it rose completely to the surface and spit at him, a trick he'd learned from Fred and George. Harry dodged the squid's spit and it hit Snape instead, drenching him in slimy greenish goo. He was not amused.

After going back to the dungeons so that Snape could wash and change, they went back to the professor's beloved potions. Harry asked lots of questions. He didn't mean to be annoying, he just wanted to know what was going on and why stuff did what it did and what Snape was making and why he needed to make it and what the big deal was about how you stirred and all that. So that Snape could escape Harry's constant chattering and pestering, they went back outside.

Finally, it was time for dinner and Snape and Harry went quickly to the Great Hall, taking their seats at their respective tables. Harry was excited to see who the Hogwarts champion would be, and while everyone was getting seated and comfortable, he guessed who it would be with Ron and Hermione in hushed tones.

When everybody was in their rightful place, Dumbledore rose and silence fell.

"The time has come," he said in his booming voice. "To discover the champions for our three schools." He walked around the Head Table, slowly to increase suspense and to hold them all on the edges of their seats. Finally he reached the Goblet and extinguished all the candles in the entire Great Hall. They waited in silence.

With a roar, the Goblets leaping flames turned from ice-blue to a bright red and a charred scrap of parchment flew into the air. Deftly, Dumbledore caught it and read, "For Durmstrang, Viktor Krum." There was an outbreak of applause as Krum stood and went up to Dumbledore, who pointed him in the right direction. Girls were screaming again, and Harry didn't have to look to know they were clinging to each other once more. The Goblet's fire went back to blue. Silence

Another roar and the fire was red again. Dumbledore caught the paper that shot forth and announced that the champion for Beauxbatons was Fleur Delacour. A very, very beautiful girl with silver-blonde hair rose from the Ravenclaw table and followed in Krum's footsteps amid her own uproar of cheers. The silence fell again, this time much more heavy.

The last parchment burst into the sky, only to be captured again by Dumbledore's old hand.

"Hogwarts," he said, looking up from the paper to beam at the Great Hall. "Cedric Diggory." The entire Hufflepuff table leapt to its feet, screaming at the top of their lungs as Diggory walked up to Dumbledore, blushing. After Diggory had disappeared after the other two champions, Dumbledore addressed the room.

"One last cheer for good luck!" Everyone screamed and clapped and there were shouts of "Go Durmstrang!" and "Go Beauxbatons!" and "Go Hogwarts!" and even a few "Go Krum!"s, as if he were his own school. But the din was stopped abruptly by another roar from the Goblet as its fire went red again. Everybody stared at it in shock, even Dumbledore, who'd lost his twinkle. There were only supposed to be three champions. As if it were a reflex for him, Dumbledore reached up and caught the paper that was slowly floating to Earth.

"_Harry Potter_."

Harry's jaw dropped. He paled slightly. He hadn't put his name in. How could his name come out if he hadn't put it in?

Hermione pushed Harry to his feet while Ron asked him, shocked, how he'd done it. Harry insisted he hadn't done it. He hadn't done anything. Hermione urged him forward and he obeyed her in a daze. What was happening? People were glaring at him, mostly Hufflepuffs and foreigners. He tried to ignore them. He didn't deserve to be glared at. He didn't do it.

In a numb haze, he followed Dumbledore's directions to the room off the Hall, trailed after by Snape, and they joined the other three champions. No, the only three champions, Harry corrected himself. He didn't count. He couldn't count. Could he?

Shortly, Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Bagman, and Crouch came in. They seemed to be in the middle of a heated argument.

"…The real question is: How did Harry's name get into the Goblet?" Dumbledore was saying.

"Nonsense, Dumbly-Dorr," Madame Maxime countered. "'Ze Potter boy must 'ave put 'is name in ze Goblet; 'e must 'ave found a way past your Age Line."

"Of course he didn't," Snape snapped at her. "I would have had to have come with him." He grabbed his charmed necklace and shot a nasty look at Dumbledore.

"'Ow do we know you are not lying for 'im?" Madame Maxime insisted. "'Ow do we know you did not put 'is name in ze goblet _for_ 'im?"

"We hate each other," said Snape and Harry together, glaring first at Madam Maxime and then at Dumbledore, whose blue eyes, once again, were twinkling with amusement.

"At least, currently they do," he explained. "Notice how the charms have 'Best Friends' written on them."

"And they're _pink_," Snape growled through gritted teeth.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore, smiling brightly. "A rather lovely shade, if I do say so myself."

"The colour of those necklaces is not the issue here," Mr. Crouch snapped at them, calling them back to the task at hand. "Potter," he barked. "How did you get your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

"I – I didn't," Harry stuttered, gulping. Everyone was staring at him again, and it was making him uncomfortable and nervous. Much as he hated to admit it, Snape's calm presence at his shoulder helped to sooth him.

"Well," said Mr. Crouch with a sigh. "The rules must be upheld, which means that Potter must compete. His name came out of the Goblet and he is bonded by magic to enter into the Tournament. There is no choice."

"But surely Hogwarts cannot have two champions," Karkaroff spoke up. "Surely there are _rules_ about that?"

"The magic cannot be broken," Mr. Crouch answered.

"Fine." Karkaroff smiled. "Then we will do it all again, so that we can have two champions as well."

"The Goblet believes its job done for now, Igor," Mr. Crouch pointed out. "It won't select another champion 'til the next Tournament. There is no way around this. There will be four champions this time around."

"No way around it, huh?" Snape snarled. Harry looked up at his professor, who he found was glaring at Karkaroff. "Because of a binding magical contract. Convenient, wouldn't you say, Igor?"

"Convenient, Severus?" Karkaroff repeated, loosing his friendliness toward Snape.

"Yes, convenient," Snape confirmed. "That Potter cannot back out. _Someone_ put his name in the Goblet, knowing that he would have no choice to turn back if it came out again."

"Yes!" Madame Maxime agreed angrily. "Someone 'oo wanted 'Ogwarts to win so badly they gave 'er two champions!"

"Quite!" Karkaroff agreed. "And I promise you I'll be complaining –"

"You've no right to complain," Snape interrupted. "If anyone does, it's Potter, being forced again into danger. I wonder _who_ would do that."

"Severus," Dumbledore warned quietly. "This discussion does not seem to me to be getting us any closer to a solution. Mr. Crouch is right. The rules are magically binding and cannot be broken. Harry must compete. I apologize, but there is no choice in the matter. Mr. Crouch, if you will." He stepped back, and Mr. Crouch took his place at the forefront of the group.

"The first task of this Tournament will test daring," he said. "You will not be forewarned as to what exactly this task is; you will be forced to act in the face of the unknown. Such courage is important in a witch or wizard. The task will be in November, the twenty-fourth to be exact, in front of the other students and the judges." He gestured to himself and Ludo and the Heads.

"You each are allowed no help, whether it is offered or not. You will be armed only with your wand, nothing else. You will receive a clue about the second task after completing the first one. Oh yes, and you are all exempt from exams."

With that, Madame Maxime exited with Fleur, both chattering on in French, and they were followed out by Karkaroff and Krum. Dumbledore bid them good night, but they seemed not to notice. Ludo and Crouch left shortly after and Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, and Cedric were left.

"You two had best get to bed," Dumbledore told Harry and Cedric. They nodded and left, led by Snape, walking side by side down the stairs to the dungeons. Cedric soon took a right toward the kitchens while Snape and Harry continued straight and down much farther.

"Someone's trying to kill you, Potter, and make it look like an accident," Snape told Harry when they were in the privacy of the dungeons.

"So what else is new?" Harry replied sarcastically. That only prompted Snape to take hold of his robes again.

"Take this seriously, Potter!" he snapped. "The Triwizard Tournament is known for its difficulty, and for the injuries it causes the competitors." Harry gulped and pried Snape's fingers from his robes.

"All right, all right," he said. Then, after a pause, he added, "Do you think it was Karkaroff?"

"I find it unlikely. He was very upset that you'd gotten in."

"Any man can lie to save his own skin," Harry quoted. Snape raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I suppose it is a possibility," he admitted. Harry grinned, but it was wiped off again when he had to go to bed, Snape on the other side of the curtain. The dungeons still spooked him, and now that he knew there was someone out to kill him, _again_, his nightmares were even worse.

#

Harry woke up with a headache and groaned loudly, rubbing his eyes and rolling over, burying his head in his squished pillow. There was a soft plunk as something was set down on his bedside table. Harry didn't bother to look to see what it was. He only moaned again. His head hurt.

"It's a pain potion, Potter," said Snape's voice softly. "Get up and drink it; we're not staying here all day." Harry peeked out from under his pillow.

"I thought that's what you did on weekends," he mumbled. Snape smirked.

"I have work to do," he replied. "And you'll want breakfast, will you not?" Harry groaned one more time before forcing his body to work and pulling himself into a sitting position to drink the potion Snape had put on his table. It tasted so horrible Harry nearly spit it out. It was worse than Skele-Gro.

"How long does it take to work?" Harry asked, falling back onto the bed with a huff. Snape didn't answer and Harry was about to ask again, but then his head stopped hurting.

"That long," Snape told him. Harry rolled his eyes and got dressed while Snape waited for him, leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded and his eyebrow raised.

When Harry had all his clothes on, the two of them headed out, and up the many stairs to the Great Hall, where they gratefully separated and Harry sat with his friends at Gryffindor, Snape grumpily at the Head Table.

Harry had only been sitting, enjoying his breakfast and his time with Ron and Hermione for a few seconds, before Hagrid came into the hall from the doors at the front and not the one behind the Head Table, like usual. He headed over to the Gryffindor Table to stand in front of Harry.

"Um, Harry, I need ter talk ter yeh," he said. It seemed he might have been trying to whisper, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it. Harry grimaced slightly, wondering why Hagrid would need to whisper. He hoped he wasn't going to offer help or something. But then again, Harry could definitely use some, even if it did come from Hagrid.

"Okay," he answered, with a glance at Snape, who looked kind of revolted. Apparently he hadn't enjoyed the last visit with Hagrid.

"Can yeh come ter my hut after dinner?" Hagrid asked, again in that whisper-that-wasn't. With another grimace, Harry nodded. He looked again at Snape, who was glaring at him. Oh well, Harry thought. He'd just have to deal, wouldn't he?

"Yeah, I'll be there, Hagrid."

"Good."

#

The day passed in a blur to Harry. He hardly noticed anything that went on around him. The whole day he was thinking solely about what in the world could be so important that Hagrid wanted to talk to him about it, but obviously didn't want anyone to know, hence the whispering-that-wasn't.

Snape seemed preoccupied as well, if Harry knew anything about him. Snape seemed to only work on potions that had really long simmering periods and when they were bubbling away softly, he paced around them, arms folded and wand always out, hanging limply from two fingers like a long forgotten cigarette.

Finally, dinner arrived and Harry, noticing that Hagrid wasn't there and figuring the bearded giant was already waiting for him, gulped down his food in a rush. Snape never ate much, so it didn't take long for them to make their exit.

It did take long, however, for Harry to convince Snape to let him meet Hagrid. Harry came up with many valid points, including the fact that Hagrid was his friend and Snape would be there even if something did go wrong, they'd already eaten dinner, Snape had finished all his scheduled potions to work on that day, and Harry didn't have any homework. (Looking back on the conversation later, Harry guessed it was the closest he would ever come to arguing with a parent to let him go out on a school night.) Eventually, Snape yielded, and they marched swiftly out onto the grounds.

Hagrid was waiting for them at the door. He glanced once at Harry, once at Snape, and then focused back on Harry again.

"Did yeh bring yer Invisibility Cloak, Harry?" he asked, once again using his whisper-that-wasn't. Harry flushed, aiming a sideways sheepish glance at Snape through the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah," he mumbled, quickly concentrating his gaze on the ground when Snape raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, "Well that explains a lot." At this thought, Harry's blush deepened. Silently, he and his professor followed Hagrid into the giant's hut.

"Yer gonna need that cloak, Harry?" Hagrid not-whispered. "Yeh should prob'ly tell ol' Snape about it, too, I reckon." Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose with a nervous chuckle.

"Pretty sure he already knows, Hagrid."

"Oh, well, that'll make things a bit easier, then," Hagrid replied, dropping the not-whisper he'd been using. "We on'y have a bit longer ter wait." Harry lifted his head, discarding his sheepishness and embarrassment immediately.

"A bit longer to wait for _what_, Hagrid?" he wondered. Hagrid fiddled with his beard.

"Jus' a bit longer," he repeated. Harry impatiently bit back another curious remark and instead focused all his attention on the door. Only about five minutes later, there was a very loud knock on it.

"'Agrid? 'Agrid, what is eet you wanted to show me?" Harry couldn't help but throw a brief glare in Hagrid's direction at finding out the giant had also invited Madame Maxime to this thing, but the look went unnoticed, except maybe by Snape, because Hagrid was no longer paying any attention what-so-ever to Harry.

"Yer cloak, Harry, yer cloak." Okay, so maybe a little bit of attention, Harry thought grudgingly, but not much. Grumbling quietly under his breath, Harry pulled his cloak from the pocket of his robes and rose from his seat to twirl the silky silver fabric around both him and Snape.

"Olympe!" Hagrid greeted his big-boned guest. "I hope yer well?"

"Yes, 'Agrid, very. 'Ow are you?" Madam Maxime linked arms with Hagrid and the two set of over the grounds toward the forest, the topmost leaves of the trees sparkling eerie silver in the moonlight. Harry and Snape followed.

It seemed to take forever to reach their destination, having to listen to Hagrid's unbearably badly disguised flirtation attempts, and to hear Madame Maxime croon over them despite their horribleness. But finally, after what seemed like several very long, annoying hours, they entered a small clearing.

The clearing seemed oddly bright to Harry, and it took him a while to take in his surroundings. Only when he heard Hagrid ask Madame Maxime if she wanted to get closer did he begin to think that those huge fire breathing things could be dragons. It only took one word ("Charlie") to confirm his conclusion. He felt rather cold all of the sudden, despite the heat coming in waves from the clearing before him. Quickly, he lead the way back to the castle, and then down to the dungeons.

Once there, Harry collapsed onto one of Snape's armchairs, letting out every last drop of air he had in him as he did so. His entire body felt weak, his muscles like feathers, his bones jelly, and his aching head heavy as lead.

"Dragons," he breathed in shock and fear.

"No shit, Potter," Snape replied rudely.

Harry would've slept that night, he really would have, but the dungeons spooked him and someone was trying to get him killed, and if there were dragons involved, he couldn't help but think they were going to do a damn good job of it.

#

Many, many thanks to Swanky (the sister Snape ran off to) for helping me get him back and for discovering his apparent huge issue with the colour pink. Love you! _Jazztrix_


End file.
